


Caramelization

by MoreThanSlightly (cadignan)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidentally High, Food, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-S7, Praise Kink, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadignan/pseuds/MoreThanSlightly
Summary: He takes Keith by the elbow. “Are you alright?"In answer, Keith sort of... folds into him. Melts. Collapses. Shiro finds himself supporting all of Keith’s weight, catching him under his arms. “Mmm," Keith says, his head lolling against Shiro’s chest. “Yeah."





	Caramelization

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly goofy and sweet, but there are references to Shiro's past trauma(s), including a brief reference to rape. Just a heads up.

Every day, Shiro takes the few hours that he has to himself—in between answering questions and attending meetings and, oh yeah, rebuilding the Earth—and meditates. He sits cross-legged on the floor of his room in the base, lays his new right hand palm-up on his thigh, and wiggles his fingers.

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the new prosthetic. But upper arms are useful—in combat, or if you’re trying to juggle a cup of coffee, clutch a stack of files, and hold a door open for somebody else. And not that he’d ever say this to anyone, because he _is_ grateful, but the similarity to Sendak’s prosthetic unsettles him.

He reshaped the Atlas just by wanting it. This should be easy.

It takes him a few sessions, but he makes it happen. A brand new shiny upper arm to match. He comes out of his trance grinning and goes for a stroll in his uniform pants and a tank top to celebrate the occasion. Everyone on the base has been too exhausted to care about formality in recent days, and besides, it’s late. No one else is around.

He wanders outside to watch the stars. Is it crazy that he still thinks they’re beautiful, now that he knows what’s out there? Shouldn’t he shiver with fear every time he tilts his head back, wondering if that clear night sky will soon be blocked out by Galra ships? He doesn’t. He finds the one, tiny untouched green space on the whole base and sits down on a bench outside the dormitory. He puts his hands behind him, enjoying feeling the weight of his body in both arms as he leans back.

“Shiro?”

He straightens like he’s been caught. “Keith?”

“Couldn’t sleep?" Keith asks.

Shiro does have trouble sleeping, but that’s not what brought him out here. “No. Just came out here to sit. You?"

It’s dark, but Shiro can make out the shape of Keith lifting one shoulder in silent answer. As Keith comes closer, he notices. “Hey, your arm."

Shiro lifts his hand from the bench and regards his work. “Yeah."

“Did you do that yourself?"

He nods.

“Cool," Keith says, which Shiro knows is glowing praise. He sits down next to Shiro and leans back until he’s staring at the stars. “Is it crazy that I want to go back?"

Shiro can’t help but laugh. He looks at Keith with fondness. “I was just thinking something similar."

It occurs to Shiro that another thing an upper arm is good for is slinging around someone’s shoulders and pulling them close. Should he? There was a point in the past when he would have touched Keith without thinking. They’ve always been close. But since Keith came back all grown up, Shiro’s been contemplating a different kind of closeness, one he’s not sure he can ask for.

Throwing your arm around someone’s shoulders isn’t a sexual touch. Except when it is. It’s all in the context, isn’t it?

“Everyone’s so excited to be back on Earth," Keith says into the silence, derailing Shiro’s thoughts. He sounds a little glum.

“Yeah," Shiro says. “I know the feeling. I’m happy for everyone to be reunited with their families. I’m happy for Allura and Coran to get to explore somewhere new. But for me... this isn’t home anymore. It’s a place I used to live. I care about it, but being here hurts a little."

“Yeah," Keith says, turning toward Shiro, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “That’s it exactly." He sounds so relieved not to be alone. “I mean, I’m pretending to be happy. For the team. But I’m glad you get it."

Teenage Keith never pretended to be happy for anybody’s sake, and Shiro is proud of him and sad all at once.

“I know it’s not the same, what we lost here," Keith says.

“Isn’t it funny how no loss is the same, but in a way, every loss is the same?" Shiro says. “Sorry, that didn’t make sense. It’s just... particular and universal at the same time, you know?"

“Yeah," Keith says. “I think I do."

Shiro really wants to hug him. He could put this new arm to good use.

But if he’s being honest, he wants a lot more than a hug, and that makes the hug... questionable. He should do this right.

How would he ask for that, if he was going to? It’s been too long since he’s done this with anybody, and the prospect of screwing things up with Keith is terrifying. And what about Keith? Does he think about Shiro like that? Has he ever had a romantic relationship of any kind? Shiro doesn’t want to pressure him, and since Shiro’s older and more experienced—sure, Keith pilots a lion, helped foment a galactic revolution, and recently killed a Galra general in combat to save Shiro’s life, but has he ever kissed anyone? Shiro has to tread carefully.

“Has Hunk been asking you about your favorite Earth foods?" Keith asks, after Shiro has been awkwardly silent and still for a beat too long.

“What?"

“He’s really excited about cooking with familiar ingredients. He’s been quizzing all of us about food. Any time he’s not clearing wreckage from bombed-out buildings, he’s in the kitchen. I guess he hasn’t been able to ask you yet because you’ve been off by yourself growing a new arm." Keith sounds entertained by this notion.

It is pretty funny. Shiro says, “Do you ever stop and think about how weird our lives are?"

Keith is hovering close enough that Shiro feels, rather than sees, his shrug. So his new arm has proprioception just like the rest of him. As Keith would say,  _cool_.

“It’s late," Keith says. They walk back inside together, side by side, close but not touching. Every moment is one more opportunity for Shiro to say or do something, and he lets them all pass. Keith stops at his room, unlocks the door, and turns. “Shiro?"

“Yeah?"

Keith is a long, lithe shadow in the darkened hallway. Every pose he takes has something coiled beneath it. He’s always ready to spring into action, even standing on the threshold of his bedroom, steps from sleep. The door is cracked open and a thin stripe of moonlight runs down Keith’s body.

Then he shakes his head like Kosmo shaking off water. Whatever he was going to say, it’s gone.

He smiles to himself, then looks up at Shiro and says, “I like your arm."

“Thanks, Keith. Night."

Over the next few days, Shiro has more time to notice what his friends are up to. Every single time Shiro passes by the base kitchen, Hunk is in there, saying something in delighted tones like, “Earth food! Recognizable vegetables!", followed, an instant later, by a lament for some alien condiment he misses. Pidge, in the kitchen but staring down at the tablet in her hands, grunts a response, and then Lance, dragooned into being a kitchen assistant, nudges Hunk for more instructions. Allura is often in the kitchen with them, standing a little closer to Lance than necessary.

It makes him smile. The food makes him smile, too. There’s a lot of it, widely varied and incredibly specific, since Hunk quizzed all of them about dream meals and rare delicacies and childhood favorites and guilty pleasures. Shiro had never seen Hunk look so crestfallen as when Shiro had shrugged and said “I just eat whatever keeps me alive."

“You and Keith," Hunk had muttered. Then, more brightly, “You’re sure there’s nothing? A favorite sandwich? A street food? You must like something."

“There was a diner by the Garrison," Shiro said at length, having wracked his brain for anything he could possibly mention to make Hunk happy. It’s only a scrap of a memory. He could probably describe Galra gladiator rations in better detail, and that part of his memory is the most fragmented. (Some kind of grilled alien meat if you pleased the audience. The same if you didn’t, but rotten.)

“This diner, they had these salted caramel milkshakes. They were pretty unhealthy, but... sometimes after a rough day, I’d go get one."

“Good, good, yes, that’s exactly it!" Hunk says, leaning forward. “I can do this. Tell me more. What did you like about it?"

He elicits more description from Shiro—far more than Shiro thought he could ever produce, not sharing Hunk’s sophisticated palate—and that’s the last Shiro hears of it until a few days later when Allura comes to fetch him.

“Hunk made your... milkshake," she says. She and Coran haven’t been into milk since they found out where it came from. From a certain perspective, Shiro supposes drinking a fluid that another species secretes from its body is pretty weird, but his experience in space has taught him that every culture is weird as fuck.

Also, he recently died and was resurrected as a clone of himself, so it seems trivial to get hung up on the concept of milk.

The team, loosely gathered in a line by the high kitchen counter, is happy to see them arrive. Keith offers him half a smile, small but genuine, then glances down at the array of milkshakes, for which Hunk has somehow miraculously scrounged up, out of the wreckage of the entire planet, traditional diner glassware and striped straws in various colors. Naturally, there is a perfect conical spiral of whipped cream on top of each one. He really worked hard on this. Shiro is touched.

At the other end of the counter, Keith says, “I didn’t know you liked these."

It’s quiet, and he probably doesn’t mean it as an accusation, but Shiro feels a need to explain himself. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret," he says. He’d told Keith far more intimate things in their time at the Garrison together. “It just didn’t seem important."

Hunk looks toward the ceiling, pained. “Food is one of life’s most essential and affirming pleasures, but sure, yeah, it didn’t  _seem important_."

Shit. He didn’t mean to insult Hunk’s efforts.

Keith gives Hunk the other half of that smile, gratified to have someone on his side. It only lasts a second. He turns back to Shiro. “I’ve never had salted caramel."

“I like it," Shiro says, feeling foolish. Obviously he likes it. That’s the whole point. But he’s not Hunk, given to waxing poetic about flavors. It tastes good. The others clearly agree with him, since the team goes silent except for the occasional happy grown. All three Alteans abstain, which means Allura and Coran told Romelle about milk. Their loss.

Shiro doesn’t remember the diner’s version all that well. It was just a small comfort. He probably only had it two or three times. But Hunk had wanted so badly for him to say something, so he’d named something innocuous and not too hard to make.  _It doesn’t mean much to me, but it means something to him_ , he’d told himself.

He’d been wrong. It means a lot to him. Not only that, he’s sure Hunk’s version is better. The milkshake is cool and creamy, its rich, smooth sweetness cut with just the right amount of salt. Shiro can’t ever go back to those years in the Garrison, nor does he want to, but it’s nice to remember something good. Even if he’d only treated himself to this a few times, it tastes like reprieve. Like no matter how bad today was, things will be alright.

It’s nice to remember something good. It’s nicer to have a friend who cares this much right here in the present.

“It’s delicious, Hunk," Shiro says. “Thank you."

The rest of the team agrees, and the conversation moves on to whose favorite Earth food Hunk should recreate next. It’s good to focus on something other than work. Shiro feels his mood lift, feels a smile come to his face unbidden. He catches Keith’s eye, and Keith smiles back. It’s dazzling.

Apparently it gets everyone else’s attention, too.

“Wow, Keith, you must really like..." Hunk trails off when he catches the direction of Keith’s gaze and it’s clear that _milkshakes_ is not the end of that sentence.

Shiro opens his mouth to change the subject, since they’re all now staring at Keith, but Keith, uncharacteristically cheerful, says “I do."

“You what now?" Lance prods.

“This was really good," Keith says, pushing aside his empty glass. “Thanks, Hunk."

“You’re... welcome. You okay, buddy?"

“Yeah," Keith says, all breathy and drawn out like the milkshake is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Shiro is struck with sudden, bizarre jealousy. “I’m gonna," he says, gesturing across the room like they can all intuit the end of the sentence.

Keith takes a step and wobbles on his feet. He catches the counter to hold himself up.

The whole team is between them, but that doesn’t stop Shiro from lunging across the kitchen. Keith is still recovering from a serious head injury. Is he going to faint? Has he been working too hard? Is it because they were up too late last night? Shiro should have confined him to bedrest—even in his panic, it occurs to him how impossible this would have been—he would have had to tie Keith down, or—

He takes Keith by the elbow. “Are you alright?"

In answer, Keith sort of... folds into him. Melts. Collapses. Shiro finds himself supporting all of Keith’s weight, catching him under his arms. “Mmm," Keith says, his head lolling against Shiro’s chest. “Yeah."

Keith is preternaturally strong and athletic and graceful.  _Okay, cool it_ , Shiro thinks, embarrassed even in the privacy of his own head. The point is, Keith doesn’t lose his balance. Not unless something is wrong.

Shiro needs to examine him, but it’s hard to do that with Keith facing away from him. It’s also hard to spin a grown man around when he won’t stand on his own two feet or help with the process in any way. Shiro manages to turn Keith around and hold him up, cradling him with that shiny new right arm. Keith’s expression is exactly as intoxicated as the rest of him suggests.

“Shiro," he says, in what he probably thinks is a whisper. “I like your arm."

This reminder of their conversation from last night is, judging from Keith’s expression, a hilarious private joke. Shiro doesn’t get it.

“You mentioned that," Shiro says quietly.

“I know," Keith says, dragging out the words. “I was gonna say something else. Something better. But I didn’t."

Shiro knows _that_ feeling. “It’s okay. Do you have a headache? How’s your vision?"

“I’m good." Shiro has never seen Keith smile as wide as he does right then. It’s goofy and out of character.  _And pretty_ , his brain interjects, as if Shiro needed any reinforcing on that point. He studies Keith’s face—for signs of some medical problem, not because he wants to—and notices his pupils are dilated. He’s a little flushed, too.

Keith claps a hand to Shiro’s shoulder. That’s normal. They’re friendly. He can do that. When he drags his hand down to Shiro’s pec, that’s when Shiro knows he’s high.

That’s also when he realizes the rest of the team has stopped chatting and is watching the two of them. He should have noticed that sooner. Damn it. Keith scrambles his brain even when he’s not staring dreamily and fondling Shiro’s chest—God, they have to stop this.

He doesn’t move Keith’s hand.

“Hunk," Shiro says without taking his eyes off Keith. “What’s in these?"

The concept of a salted caramel milkshake that gets you drunk is appealing, now that he thinks of it, but he’s sure Hunk wouldn’t have done that without letting them know first.

“Milk. Vanilla ice cream. Salted caramel that I made myself with cream, cultured butter, sugar, and fleur de sel, you’re welcome."

“That’s it?"

There’s nothing unusual in that list. Keith has different biology than the rest of them, but he lived most of his life on Earth. If any of those ingredients had this effect on him, he’d know.

“That’s it," Hunk assures him. “All locally sourced Earth ingredients."

“He’s reacting to something," Shiro says.

“I’m right here," Keith says, but he doesn’t sound bothered about it. He’s touching Shiro with both hands now, tracing some pattern only he can see all over Shiro’s chest. “Beautiful."

Shiro doesn’t blush easily, but that does it. The whole team is watching. Keith doesn’t care. He’s conducting a leisurely exploration of Shiro’s body in full view of everyone, naked adoration on his face.

“Looks like he’s reacting to you," Lance observes, and Allura hisses, “Lance."

“He lived on Earth his whole life," Hunk says, repeating what Shiro’s already thought. “There’s no way he’d get high off  _milk_  and not know about it."

“Fleur de sel, though?" Pidge asks. “I know it’s just salt, but—"

“It is not  _just_  salt," Hunk says, offended. “It comes from the coast of Brittany and has a very particular chemical composition—ohh, never mind, okay, I see where you’re going with this. Chemistry."

Pidge frowns and puts a hand to her chin, thinking. “There’s such a small amount of salt, though. Do you really think that’s it?"

“It could be something else," Hunk says. “Caramelization is a chemical process."

“The Maillard reaction?" Pidge asks. They’ve lost Shiro, and probably the rest of the team, too, but he doesn’t ask them to stop and explain. He’s busy trying to keep Keith’s adventuring hands family-friendly. Besides, when Hunk and Pidge get into something, it’s best to let them work it out.

“Similar, but not quite. But Keith can’t possibly have avoided eating any kind of caramelized sugar his whole life. It’s all over the place. Not just candy. You can caramelize onions! And you should, really, they’re delicious."

“Maybe it’s a question of quantity," Pidge says. “Maybe whatever’s in caramelized sugar doesn’t affect him unless he has a lot. He said he’d never had salted caramel before. So that’s plausible, right?"

“Aw, quiznak," Hunk says. “It was me, then. I broke our favorite Galra-Human hybrid. Sorry, Keith."

“I’m fine," Keith tells him, and again, he doesn’t sound nearly as irritated as he should. He sounds dazed and... happy. Shiro’s caught between fondness and concern. He catches Keith’s hands before they wander any further down to his thighs and holds them in his own.

“I’ve heard that one before. We’re going to medical to find out if it’s true. And Hunk, you don’t need to apologize. This isn’t your fault. There’s no way you could have predicted this," Shiro says. It’s his fault. He asked for this. The symptoms are harmless enough now, but if Keith is hurt... “Let’s go. Sorry we can’t help clean up."

“Get out of here. You don’t have to clean up after I make something for you. What do you think the rest of them are here for?" Hunk says, gesturing at the team.

“Agreed," Pidge says. “You should go."

“We’ve got this," Lance says.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright? I’m not an expert on Galra biology, and certainly not hybrids, but I could—" Coran starts, and Allura nudges him. “Ah. I see. Yes. Washing dishes. Very important."

“You should probably stay with him until it passes. Do let us know if you need anything," Allura says, and with that, they’re excused.

Shiro shepherds Keith through the halls. He tries, at first, to do it without touching, but Keith, even in this state, is both determined and wily. With the grace peculiar to the intoxicated, he wends his way to Shiro’s side. Somehow they don’t make any forward progress until Shiro’s arm is firmly anchored around Keith’s waist. Then Keith’s head drops to his shoulder. After that, he seems happy to be taken anywhere, and he submits to all the routine tests the machine can do. When it lights up green to indicate that he passed, he smirks at Shiro.

“Told you I’m fine."

“I guess you are," Shiro says. He’s relieved and panicked at the same time. Because if Keith really is fine, minor intoxication aside, that means now they’re alone together and he’s not sure what to do. “We say that a lot, though, and it’s not always true."

“You’re always lying, you mean,“ Keith says, poking him in the chest. “Because you take care of other people all the time and you won’t let anybody do it for you. Except sometimes when I jump out of the sky and slash Sendak in half, then you give me two minutes of dazed aftermath cuddling.“

Shiro feels his mouth fall open, and he can’t seem to close it. He can’t seem to finish a sentence, either. “That was—I didn’t think of it like that—I didn’t know—“

_Dazed aftermath cuddling_. He has no idea what to make of the idea.

Keith puts him out of his misery by ducking under his arm again. The pose is ridiculous, making it look like Shiro is the one in control, but Shiro lets his hand fall to Keith’s hip anyway. It’s not the aftermath of anything, and it’s not really cuddling, but one of them _is_ dazed.

Shiro’s not sure anymore which of them it is, though.

But if Keith wants Shiro’s arm around his waist, Shiro can do that for him. It’s no hardship.

They walk out of the room together. They’re heading for their sleeping quarters, and Shiro has no idea what’s going to happen when they get there. He should probably exert some sobriety on this situation. He didn’t expect Keith to be so bossy. He’s never even seen Keith drink a beer or take a puff of anything that wasn’t breathable air.

“I wouldn’t be talking this much normally, but I guess I have some things to say,“ Keith says, and it’s his first admission that he’s done anything uncharacteristic. He doesn’t sound sober, not with that wild up-and-down lilt in his voice, but he’s impressively lucid. The topic (Shiro’s feelings, and God knows how he let  _that_  happen) and the position (Keith tucked against Shiro’s side, his cheek and one hand pressed flat against his heart) are unconventional, but Keith can string a sentence together with eerie clarity.

If Shiro’s honest, he wishes Keith would go back to drunkenly fondling him. He preferred it to this uncomfortably perceptive analysis. But as Keith has pointed out, Shiro’s not honest. He’s been keeping a lot of things to himself. Or from himself. Maybe both.

“It took Hunk days to wheedle one little request out of you, and I’m sure you convinced yourself to give him even that much by thinking of it as  _for him_ ,“ Keith says.

That stops Shiro in his tracks outside the door to Keith’s room. He can’t ask how Keith knows, so he says, “What’s wrong with that?“

Keith faces him, puts both hands on his shoulders, marches him through the door, and kicks it shut behind them. He might have done that sober, but he wouldn’t be tracing his thumbs along the ridge of Shiro’s collarbone, barely visible under his suit. “You have to want things for yourself sometimes.“

_I do want things for myself_ , Shiro wants to say.  _I want to live_. But that want is inextricable from another, and while it’s never been as close to the surface as it is now, with Keith doggedly staring him down, practically caressing his neck, Shiro’s not ready to say it out loud. It’s too much to ask of another person. He can’t say  _I came back for you_. He didn’t come back exclusively for Keith, but the fact that he came back at all is tied up in his feelings for Keith.  _Came back_. What a way to put it. They both know he wouldn’t be talking about a bus ticket or even an interstellar voyage. Resurrection isn’t the same. Shiro can’t put that kind of pressure on Keith.

He can’t even ask Hunk to cook for him.

“I wish _you_ were the one having some kind of unpredictable, drugged reaction that loosened your inhibitions,“ Keith says. Shiro almost feels like he is. Keith’s hands have traveled up the back of Shiro’s neck and his fingers are now moving in little circles through the shortest part of Shiro’s hair. It’s pleasant to the point of distraction—okay, so maybe he’d lean into the touch and moan if this was real, and if he were sure Keith was fully aware of what his hands were doing, but for now Shiro’s committed to being a good listener.

And steadfastly ignoring his erection.

“You have to want things for yourself,“ Keith says again, and Shiro hopes that’s not in reference to his arousal, or maybe he hopes it is. He doesn’t know what to hope for anymore. Keith takes a breath. “Mostly because that’s the only real way to live. But partly because I want something from you, and you can’t give it to me just because  _I_  want it."

Oh.

Being a very good and dedicated listener who is absolutely not succumbing to his own desperate arousal, Shiro notes that Keith didn’t actually  _say_  what he wanted. But the thing you can only give to someone if you want to give it and they want to receive it? Shiro has a pretty good idea what that might be.

Also, Keith is touching him, and has been for hours.

And maybe he’s known for longer than that. Maybe Shiro’s been denying himself what he wants all this time because life—and death—have been so hard. It’s terrifying to want something more than food or water or shelter. Far more terrifying to believe he might actually get it.

If you have something, you can lose it.

Then again, he lost his life and got it back. It’s risky, what they do, but some risks are worth taking.

“I do... want things," Shiro says, aware that some time has passed in silence and Keith is probably expecting a response. Or maybe in his current state, he’s content to keep stroking Shiro’s hair for the next few hours. “I’m not accustomed to getting what I want.“

“Hunk made you a milkshake,“ Keith says. Shiro takes it as a non sequitur for a moment then he puts together that Keith is listing an example of a time Shiro wanted something and received it. “And he’s not even in love with you.“

Shiro’s heart beats so loud Keith can probably hear it from where he’s standing. How good is Galra hearing, anyway? No, that’s the wrong thing to think about.  _Keith is in love with me_. Shiro can’t think of the news as  _expected_ —that feels wrong, somehow, to  _expect_  someone else to love you—but it’s also not a surprise. It feels good, though.

He wants to hear it again. More directly. And maybe one more time after that, just in case. He wants to hear Keith say it while sober. He wants to hear Keith say it next time they complete a training exercise. Next time they win a battle. In front of the team. The first time they wake up in bed together. In the middle of the night when one of them accidentally jostles the other awake. On Earth, in space, on every planet they land on for the rest of their lives, however long that might be. On a Tuesday afternoon for no reason at all, except that it’s true.

And he wants to say it back.

“Not sure you should mess around with any more milkshakes,“ Shiro says lightly, touching the tip of Keith’s nose. “But coincidentally, I am in love with you.“

“Why no more milkshakes? That last one worked out great,“ Keith says, and then he can’t talk anymore, because they’re kissing. Shiro can’t say which of them moved first because they moved together and met in the middle. Keith’s lips are warm against his and he tastes faintly of salted caramel.

Keith wastes no time in pushing him down until he’s sitting on the bed. He crawls into Shiro’s lap and wraps his long legs around Shiro’s waist. He’d grown, obviously, but Shiro hadn’t realized until this moment exactly how much taller and heavier Keith had gotten. It’s different to feel that weight in his lap. It soothes some worry he couldn’t even admit to himself before, this reminder that Keith can take him. He doesn’t want to think about that, so he rolls his hips up until Keith groans.

“If you’re gonna do that, you can’t back out five minutes from now by telling me that I’m high and you wouldn’t want to take advantage,“ Keith mumbles into the side of Shiro’s neck.

Shiro had been wondering if he should say that. It’s not what he wants, but—

“I’m not that high,“ Keith says. “And I’ve been jacking off to the thought of this while sober every day since I was sixteen, so you’re not taking advantage. If anything,  _I’m_  taking advantage.“

Shiro ought to be able to figure out what Keith means, but Keith grinds against him and he momentarily loses his ability to follow the logic of their conversation. And his brain is still stuck on  _every day since I was sixteen_. That’s a long fucking time. Back then, Shiro hadn’t felt anything but platonic affection for a moody, exceptionally talented kid. Maybe a little recognition, since they’d both had something to prove. He can’t say when things shifted, but Keith in his lap is definitive proof of change.

“How does this constitute you taking advantage of me?“ Shiro asks. He’s not worried. If this is what it feels like when Keith takes advantage of him, Keith is welcome to do it all the time. But still. Now that Keith brought it up, they should have the conversation. Keith might never be this talkative again.

“Because of what I’ve been saying this whole time! The thing you do where you take care of everybody and make them happy, even if it means ignoring your own needs. I know how easy it would be for you to think, ’oh, poor Keith, he’s having a hard time and I have to make him feel better.’ I don’t want that, Shiro!“

Shiro can’t help it. He laughs. He settles a hand over Keith’s very obvious erection. “Are you?“ he asks. “Having a hard time?“

“Shiro.“

“What can I do to prove it to you, Keith? What would make you believe that this is as much  _for me_  as it is  _for you_?“

Keith lifts his head until he can stare right into Shiro’s eyes, and Shiro suddenly gets it. This isn’t an issue they can resolve with conversation. He has to show, not tell.

He pushes his fingers into Keith’s bangs, combing them back from his face until they stand straight up between his fingers, giving him a gentle grip on Keith’s scalp. He tugs Keith’s head back slightly and then surges up to kiss him hard. Keith takes it beautifully, knocked back for a second by the force of it but then leaning in and sliding his tongue against Shiro’s, his eyes squeezed shut.

When he leans in, his legs aren’t clamped quite as tightly around Shiro’s waist. Shiro takes the opportunity to flip their position, and Keith ends up flat on his back. His eyes flash open, and for a second Shiro worries he’s doing this wrong. It’s too much like fighting. It’ll bring up bad memories for both of them. But then Keith gives him a fiery little smile and drags him down into a kiss. They’re okay. They’re better than okay.

They stay like that, Shiro pressing Keith down into the mattress with his weight, making out and rubbing up against one another, for a good long time. Shiro needs this, needs to be touched, needs to feel Keith’s whole body underneath his. It was torturously fucking lonely to have his consciousness trapped somewhere. He’d thought, at first, that it was his inability to communicate that hurt the most. But after a while, he would have traded the chance to speak for the chance to be touched, no question.

Keith gets it without being told. His hands are everywhere, petting Shiro’s face and stroking his hair and then finally, seeking out all the hidden zippers and fastenings in their suits so they can be skin to skin. After they wrestle their clothes off, Keith flips them so they’re facing each other and lying on their sides.

Shiro trails a hand down his chest and combs his fingers through the thatch of hair between his hips, tantalizingly close to his cock. “Have you ever done this before?“

Keith raises his eyebrows. “Are you gonna freak out if I say no?“

“No.“ _Maybe a little_. He’ll try not to. “But you know about me. You met Adam, way back when. He’s not the only part of my history, but he is probably the most significant. I want to know about you. I want you to tell me.“

Is this weird, asking somebody about previous partners while you’re both naked in bed together? Shiro doesn’t care. He doesn’t mean it possessively. He’s not doing it to crow about taking Keith’s virginity. He’s just curious. They’ve been through so much together, but not this.

“It’s not my first time,“ Keith says after a moment of biting his lip and considering his response. His pupils have almost returned to their normal size, but his lips and cheeks are still flushed. His smile is crooked. “But it is my first time with a human.“

Shiro’s hand goes still and he looks up to meet Keith’s eyes. “Oh. Whoa. Okay. So... one of the Blades?“

Keith shrugs. “I was going through some stuff. I’m not a monk.“

Shiro doesn’t miss the desperate horniness of his late teens and early twenties. And in case he’d forgotten what it was like, fate had placed him in the Castle of Lions with three young men who were always pretending they had no idea why there were no tissues left in the stockroom. “Never said you were. Was it serious?“

“No. It was just... relief. For both of us. And it was only a few times.“ A breath. “I think he could tell I wished he was someone else.“

Shiro touches his face, slides his fingers along that scar. Keith has been through a lot, both with and without him.

“You’re not mad I didn’t wait for you?“

“Keith, how could I possibly be mad about that? I never asked that of you; I never had the right. I’m glad you had someone, even if it didn’t last.“

If possible, Keith’s blush deepens. Is he still high or is he making a confession of his own free will? “I guess, in my head... you were gonna teach me. You taught me everything else worth knowing. Sorry. That’s dumb.“

Shiro brushes a lock of Keith’s hair out of his face. “It’s not dumb. It’s... very flattering, actually. And hot.“ He’s relieved that Keith has a little experience, because that means they can play this out without any of the pressure that would go along with really teaching him. The scenario has a certain appeal, and more than that, he likes the idea of playing. Like a simulation, but instead of the satisfaction of winning, they’ll have orgasms. They can make it work. “And this is, after all, your first time with a human.“

Keith smiles, gratified and excited, but then it’s too much for him and he laughs, presses his face into the pillow, and mumbles, “Galra dick’s not that different.“

Shiro shouldn’t say anything. They’re having a nice moment. But they’re also being honest. “I know.“

Keith lifts his face from the pillow, alarmed. “Shit. I’m sorry. I should have—ah, shit, Shiro. Do you want to talk about this? Should we stop?“

“You told me I couldn’t back out,“ Shiro teases.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Ugh, here I am going on about my dumb fantasies of our first time and you’re—“

“Keith. Don’t go there. I don’t need or want to talk about that right now. I’m—“

“Fine?“ Keith asks, an accusation in his expression.

“Enjoying myself,“ Shiro finishes, his voice firm. “And I want to keep going, if you want to.“

“We’ve both been through some shit, huh?“

“All the more reason to do this while we can,“ Shiro says. “Now. Do you want me to teach you or not?“

“I do.“ Keith shivers at the change in his voice. Their bodies are close enough that Shiro feels it as well as sees it. Just like that, his cock is hard again. Shiro loves doing this for Keith, but he’s doing it for himself, too. It can be both at once.

He needs to ask Keith some questions, but now that they’ve agreed on this premise, he wants to stick to it.

“When you were thinking about this,“  _nope, Takashi, don’t tiptoe, do it right_ , “when you touch yourself and think about us, what do you imagine?“ He lays his hand on Keith’s face and takes him gently by the chin so he can’t look away.

Keith sucks in a breath. Fuck yes, that’s exactly the reaction Shiro wanted. God, his eyes are gorgeous. Keith swallows. “There are a lot of variations. You’ve been my favorite fantasy for a long time.“

“Describe one and we’ll make it happen.“

Watching the downward sweep of Keith’s lashes and the working of his throat is almost enough to undo Shiro. When they finally get around to touching each other, it’s going to take all of his willpower not to come at first contact.

“I want you inside me,“ Keith says, his hesitation gone. “And I want to be on top.“

If Shiro asks if Keith has bottomed before, he’ll ruin the game, but he wants to know. He casts back through his memories of teaching Keith things and knows exactly what to say. “Do you think you’re ready for that?“

Keith is bigger, older, more mature and more scarred than he was at sixteen, but he makes all the same faces. Instead of saying anything, he stretches his arm out so he can reach the table beyond the low metal headboard. He pulls open a drawer and sets a bottle of lube on the table with a definitive  _thunk_.

Well, that answers that question.

“Spread your legs for me,“ Shiro says. He smiles. If it were really Keith’s first time, he’d be a lot more anxious. He wouldn’t enjoy taking control. But they’re equals now. They’ve both piloted giant magical spacecraft to save the universe. They’ve lost and found family—and each other.

Even more of a marvel, they had a grown-up conversation about their feelings and it went really  _well_. As evidenced by the fact that Keith is spread out below him, in total languor with his eyes closed, and Shiro is about to pour lube into his hand.

The image is obscene and wonderful and a little bit surprising. Shiro had thought Keith would watch everything. Not like a wide-eyed virgin, but like a hawk. The way he used to study Shiro’s piloting, his jaw set and a promise in his eyes that said  _I’m memorizing every detail of this so I can do it better than you next time_.

There’s an exciting thought. Shiro would  _not_  mind being watched like that.

But he likes Keith with his eyes closed, too. It feels like a sign of trust. He’s never been worried about Keith trusting him, but they’ve never done this before. Shiro touches him with the appropriate reverence, making slow, small circles.

Keith opens one eye. “Would you... switch hands?“

Shiro holds up his right arm like a question mark. He waggles his fingers. “Really?“ That couldn’t have been part of Keith’s teenage fantasy. Shiro’s arms had both been flesh and blood back then.

“I know that wasn’t you then,“ Keith says, like he’s anticipated Shiro’s thoughts. “But it’s you now _._ I want to know it’s you.“

Shiro doesn’t know how to respond for a second. He doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about his appearance under normal circumstances, and he left normal circumstances behind years ago. He’s been preoccupied with galactic war. But with Keith gazing at him like that, two things occur to him simultaneously. First, he doesn’t look much like the person Keith idolized back in the day. Second, Keith likes him  _better_  this way.

That releases something deep in his chest that he didn’t even know was constricted. But he’s got a role to play, and it doesn’t involve blinking back grateful tears. So he smiles and says, “You’ll know.“

He switches hands and pushes a finger into Keith. Bless Altean magic. Even with metal fingers, Shiro feels everything he’d feel with his left hand. Keith is tight and slick and already pushing for more.

“You can do more than that,” Keith says. “I can take it.”

“No, we’re gonna take it slow,” Shiro says. He smiles wickedly at Keith. “It’s your first time, after all.”

“Oh my God,” Keith groans. “I should have known you’d be like this.”

Shiro slips in a second finger and makes Keith groan for different reasons. “We have all the time in the world. There’s no rush. And you look so beautiful like this. Be good for me. Be patient.”

Keith arches up at those words. Oh, _yes_. Goddamn. Shiro had worried he was laying it on a little thick, but now he wants to lay it on thicker.

He leans down to kiss Keith, pushing him flat against the bed. Keith goes still and channels all the desperation of his body into the kiss, fierce and messy. Shiro can feel his own erection, heavy and dripping onto Keith’s stomach. Keith isn’t the only one who has to be patient.

They’ve waited this long. What’s a few more minutes?

Shiro breaks the kiss and puts his lips to the side of Keith’s neck. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Good. Amazing. Ready for more. You can fuck me, Shiro.”

Shiro hums with laughter and kisses the hinge of Keith’s jaw. “We will get there, I promise. You’re doing great.”

He sits up a little. He pours on more lube and adds another finger, making long, sure strokes into Keith’s body. Keith shudders and sighs. His cock points straight at his navel, already at its fullest thickness, leaking a little. His eyes are half-closed with pleasure.

“That’s right. You feel that? Do you feel nice and full?”

“Shiro,” Keith complains. It’s not quite begging, but it goes right to Shiro’s cock anyway.

Shiro palms Keith’s face, his thumb touching the end of his scar. “Shh, you’re doing so well. You’re gorgeous and I’m gonna give you everything you want. I need you to talk to me. We can’t keep going unless I know you’re enjoying yourself.”

Keith’s eyes snap open. He’s always been motivated by a challenge. “It feels good. So, so good, Shiro. I could come just from your fingers if you keep going like this, but I want you to fuck me. I want to come with you inside me.”

“Good. I think you’re ready.” Shiro frees his fingers slowly. Keith shivers, then wastes no time propping himself up. Shiro rolls onto his back and finally gives his aching cock a stroke. Just one, lazy and slow, like he isn’t fucking dying for it. Keith eyes his hand with envy. Shiro asks, “Do you know what to do?”

Keith looks him right in the eye and gives him a single, sharp nod. One corner of his mouth twists up. Fierce, determined, already sure he’ll ace this test—but too shy or unsteady to use any words. It’s a damn fine bit of acting. It might be a replay of his actual first time, but Shiro doesn’t care about that. He recognizes the expression as a reprise of every challenge Keith accepted in the Garrison. Like Keith’s desire that Shiro use his right arm, this moment is something particular to them.

Keith straddles him and sheathes Shiro’s cock in his ass in one smooth motion.

“Fuck,” Shiro says. It’s not part of his role. It’s pure appreciation. It takes a second for his vision to clear. He settles his hands on Keith’s hips. “That feels so good. You like that?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. He closes his eyes and inhales like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. Shiro could do the same. He loves the intimacy of their joined bodies. How did he live without this for so long? He’s going to do everything he can to make sure it happens as often as possible from here on out.

“You were so patient for me. You did such a good job. And I can already tell you’re gonna be great at this. I’m proud of you.”

Keith puts a hand on the base of his cock and squeezes, and Shiro knows he was right to save _I’m proud of you_ until now. “Ah, fuck, Shiro. Really?”

“Really. Always. For everything.”

Keith bites his lip and smiles, and Shiro is positive Keith has never looked that soft for anyone else in his life. It’s gonna ruin him. It’s a good thing only Keith can see him, since he probably looks pretty dopey himself. He reaches up and runs a hand through Keith’s hair, tucking a strand behind his ear.

“I love you,” he blurts. “I don’t know why I’ve never said so before today. It’s been true for a long time.”

“I love you, too,” Keith says. “It’s a lot easier to say that than I thought it was gonna be. Before, every time I tried, I just ended up saying stupid shit like _I like your arm_.”

Shiro laughs. “I didn’t mind that. And we got here eventually. We just needed some time.”

“And for me to accidentally get high on salted caramel.”

“I’m gonna write Hunk a thank-you note.”

“The fuck you will,” Keith says and effectively ends their conversation by sliding off Shiro’s cock and ramming himself back down.

Holy fuck. That leaves him wordless for a couple of breaths. Shiro puts his hands on Keith’s thighs to stop him for a moment. He’s not gonna last through much more of _that_. And they’re playing through a scene. He has things to say. “That’s good, Keith. You’re so good. I’m glad you wanted to try this way first, because it puts you in control. Take your time. Go as slow as you want."

“Shiro,” Keith says, his eyes gleaming. “You’ve known me a long time. When have I ever wanted to go slow?”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. He’s glad he took his time while he had the chance. Keith is in the cockpit now. “I should have known you’d be like this,” he says, using Keith’s phrase from earlier. Keith laughs and picks up the pace.

As predicted, Keith is good at this. He’s regained his natural grace and is using all his strength to ride Shiro hard and fast.

“You are so gorgeous, I could watch you do that forever,” Shiro says. It comes out ragged, since he’s panting, but he means every word.

“You’re pretty stunning yourself,” Keith says, tracing a hand down Shiro’s chest. “In case I didn’t get that across earlier, in the kitchen, in front of all our friends.”

“I’m slow, sometimes. You can tell me again.”

When Keith smiles, Shiro expects a smartass reply. They’re both almost out of breath anyway. But instead Keith says, “You’re beautiful. Sometimes I look at you and I can’t breathe because of how much I love you. When you asked last night if I ever stopped to think about how weird our lives were, all I could think was that I’m so stupidly happy to be here, now, with you. As long as you’re with me, I’m good. We could go anywhere and do anything. You make me feel like I’m capable of the impossible.”

“You are,” Shiro says. “You keep proving it again and again.”

Keith shivers. “You’d better touch me before I fall all the way apart.”

Shiro obliges, taking Keith’s cock into his hand, and Keith drives them careening over the edge. He comes with such force that he cries out, and so does Keith. Their voices blend, interwoven just like their bodies, until Keith leans down to kiss him on the mouth. They disentangle themselves, boneless and sticky, kissing and curling into each other.

_I’m so stupidly happy to be here, now, with you_. Shiro feels the same. He’d been afraid to ask for this, but now that he has it, he’ll fight to keep it. Luckily, the two of them are good at that.

“You know all that stuff we said last night about not feeling like we belong on Earth anymore?” Shiro says, his arm draped over Keith’s waist.

“Mm,” Keith says.

Shiro brushes his hair aside to kiss the back of his neck. “It’s good to be home, that’s all.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Shiro goes to the kitchen for two cups of coffee, and he runs into Hunk.

“Hey. Is Keith okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. The effects faded after a couple of hours.” Shiro probably should have let the team know things were okay yesterday, but he was busy.

“Oh, good. That’s a relief.”

Shiro is done pouring coffee, but Hunk is standing in a kitchen in a way that makes him think they’re not done talking.

“I, um... I put the leftover caramel sauce in a container in the fridge,“ Hunk says, gesturing and avoiding eye contact. “Just in case you, uh, want that. For anything.“

Shiro ought to be embarrassed, but mostly he’s touched. And amused. Hunk’s got the embarrassment covered for both of them. The team must have guessed why he and Keith didn’t emerge from Keith’s room yesterday. Shiro’s too happy to care. “Thanks, Hunk.“

“You’re welcome.“ Hunk smiles, then his gaze drops and he shakes his head. “Oh, God, I’m too good of a friend and it’s weird now. Okay, I’m gonna... go.“

“It was kind of you to think of us,“ Shiro calls after him, emphasizing the  _us_  because he can’t resist teasing Hunk a little bit. He peeks into the fridge, but doesn’t reach for the container. Funny, how sugar starts out sweet, and fire changes it into something richer and more nuanced. That original sweetness is still there, though.

He and Keith don’t really need the caramel.

Still, they might want it.

He closes the fridge and walks back to Keith’s room with the coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://morethanslightly.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/_cadignan).


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